Martyrs of the Catacombs - Anonymous

extremity of hunger and rage.
Soon iron gratings were flung open by men from above, and a tiger
stalked forth into the arenas. He was from Africa, whence he had been
brought but a few days previously. He had been kept three days without
food, and his furious rage, which hunger and confinement had heightened to
a terrible degree, was awful to behold. Lashing his tail, he walked round the
arena gazing with bloodshot eyes upward at the spectators. But their
attention was soon diverted to another object. From the opposite side a man
was thrust out into the arena. He had no armor, but was naked like all
gladiators, with the simple exception of a cloth around his loins. Bearing in
his hand the customary short sword, he advanced with a firm pace toward the
center of the scene.
All eyes at once were fixed upon this man. "Macer, Macer," was called
around by the innumerable spectators.
The tiger soon saw him, and uttered a short savage growl of fearful
import. Macer stood still, with his eyes calmly fixed upon the beast, who,
lashing his tail more madly than ever, bounded toward him. Finally the tiger
crouched, and then, with one terrific spring, leaped directly upon him. But
Macer was prepared. Like a flash he darted to the left, and just as the tiger
fell to the earth, he dealt a short sharp blow straight to his heart. It was a fatal
stroke. The huge beast shuddered from head to foot, and drawing all his
limbs together, he uttered a last howl that sounded almost like the scream of
a human being, and fell, dead upon the sand.
Again the applause of the multitude rose like a thunder peal all around.
"Wonderful!" cried Marcellus. "I never saw skill equal to that of
Macer!"
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